


Please Label Clearly

by mystiri1



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The staff fridge is something all Turks take seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Label Clearly

Rufus liked to take care of his Turks, so the new ShinRa building boasted a spacious lounge with all the amenities.

It had a wide-screen TV with assorted video games, a pinball machine, card tables, and a steady supply of sealed decks because Turks weren't inclined to be trusting. There were comfortable sofas, which occasionally doubled as beds; one of the cupboards held thick comforters and pillows for just that purpose. It had both kitchen and dining areas, with everything a Turk could need to ensure they were well-fed if, for some reason, the cafeteria failed to meet their current culinary cravings. And, of course, the staff fridge.

The staff refrigerator was a two-door monstrosity of gleaming stainless steel. It had an ice-maker, which the Turks put to good use on poker nights (one thing Rufus didn't provide was liquor, because he said any Turk who couldn't get his hands on alcohol when he really wanted it wasn't trying) and a freezer compartment. It was where the Turks stored their own snacks, lunches and drinks. A sign on the door stated, in big block letters, 'All food must be clearly labelled.' A marker pen and some stickers had permanent residence on the counter beside it.

That didn't mean that food bearing a name would be spared. The sign wasn't a rule; it was a challenge.

Anything bearing Reno's name was generally safe. Given some of the things Reno had been known to eat, nobody wanted to risk it – especially if he had cooked it himself. This suited Reno fine, so he never mentioned the cooking classes he took some years ago when he got sick of eating take-out.

Rude's lunch was also usually spared from any depradations. The large Turk liked to eat healthy, so while sometimes it did taste good, there was the danger of encountering tofu. And he'd been known to store some of the chemicals he used for making explosives in soda bottles, too, at least until Tseng spoke to him about it after a minor medical emergency involving one of the newer Turks.

Stealing Tseng's lunch was considered a rite of passage. Everybody tried it at least once; nobody got away with it. But there was always the possibility that someday somebody might, and the bragging rights would be huge. As long as Tseng didn't find out.

And in the freezer compartment was a small box, with multiple labels. It was rather unprepossessing for the dire warnings scrawled across it, and bore the legend 'Sweet Sensations Bakery'. Some wondered if it wasn't akin to Rude's 'soda' bottles, and genuinely dangerous, especially when the older Turks were heard to admit that some months that little box probably saved their lives.

It was because of that little box, and its contents, that Tseng found himself in Rufus's office as the President looked over an itemised list of the damages to said lounge, and the Turks who'd been unfortunate enough to be there at the time.

“I don't understand, Tseng.” Rufus looked stunned, and he was quite used to the mayhem and destruction his Turks could cause. Usually, he enjoyed it. “What _happened_?”

“Well, uh -” Tseng floundered , then decided there really wasn't any delicate way to put it, even if he found discussing such matters personally embarrassing. “It's approaching a certain time of the month, sir.”

“What, the full moon?” Rufus looked blank.

Tseng sighed, and wondered why he always had to be the one to explain why his Turks had indulged in mass destruction _this_ time. It probably had something to do with being the boss, but it still didn't seem fair. Nevertheless, he gave it his best shot, and hoped that this wouldn't turn into a repeat of that disastrous time when he'd been forced to give an adolescent Rufus a lecture on the birds and the bees.

“It's approaching a _certain time_ of the _month _-” he stressed the words, in the hopes that he'd never have to use them again, at least not in this context, “- and somebody stole Elena's emergency Double Chocolate Fudge brownie.”


End file.
